Young Empires, Old Souls
by starsxhearts23
Summary: Things haven't been going well for John Cena lately. He just went through a messy divorce, and is now plagued with an injury that will sideline him for more than six months. While he tries to recuperate in Boston, maybe he will find the solace he is looking for and the person he needs to get back on his feet.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own John Cena. The only people I own in this story are Camilla and the original characters I have come up with. As with most stories on this website, this is PURELY a work of FICTION; nothing more, nothing less. **

**If there are aspects of John's life that I get incorrect, please don't hang me for it and send me hate messages. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. FROM MY BRAIN. WHICH MEANS I GET TO MAKE UP WHATEVER I WANT.**

Despite being the centre of attention, surrounded by his family, friends, and friends of friends, and friends of those friends; in a condo where the music was playing from speakers in every corner; where food and alcohol were rampant; where people were dancing, singing, drinking, eating, talking, and laughing; where girls were coming up to him by the pair to console him and offer their support, with little winks and smiles and flirty touches of the bicep; with grown men patting him on the back, telling him he will be ready to go in no time, John Cena had never felt more alone.

Isolation in a room full of people was the worst. Especially when the feeling of isolation wasn't apparent – all people saw was the fake smile plastered on his face and the blue arm sling he was wearing. Besides his immediate family, the people he was surrounded by didn't have much sympathy for his injury because they knew he'd be able to bounce back quickly. This was John Cena after all – he was Superman. He'd done it before, more than once. But this time, he wasn't so sure.

First came the divorce. He and his wife – his high school sweetheart – and supposed love of his life, could not stand each other's presence. They had been having problems for a while, none of which John admitted to anybody because he didn't want them worrying about him. These problems had inevitably come crashing down. She turned out to be someone different than who he thought he knew, and this crushed him. He'd known her for so long. What did he fail to see, in all those years? Yes, he was the one who filed for divorce, but she didn't make things easy. It was all done now – she had her money and the house and everything she wanted so she would never have to see or hear from him again – but John still felt that he had become less of a man because of this failed marriage. He'd spent so much of his life with her, and now she was gone.

As if the divorce wasn't bad enough, he was now plagued with an injury that forced him to stop doing what he loved to do most. In a botch that was not his fault, but instead the fault of his competitor, he had landed badly and tore his pectoral muscle as well as broken his elbow. His entire left arm was a write-off. Doctors advised him not to wrestle for _at least_ six months. _Six months?!_ How was he not supposed to do what he loved for six months? He feared it more than anything – at least work pushed the thoughts of his failed marriage to the back of his mind. Now it was all he could think about, and if he could ever find a woman, at this point in his life, who wasn't going to want to be with him for his money or fame. Was he ever going to be happy again?

"I want to propose a toast!" he suddenly heard his oldest brother, Dan, yell to the small crowd of people that had formed around him. "Let's all hope John has a speedy recovery, and when he gets back, wins the WWE Championship! To John!"

"TO JOHN!" everyone screamed out around him, taking sips from their glasses or downing the shots held in their hands. John smiled graciously and raised his glass of water as a sign of gratitude before taking a sip. Soon, most of the people dispersed and John found himself looking around awkwardly at everything that was happening before him. Everybody was having so much fun; nobody would ever know that this was supposed to be a party for his successful shoulder surgery. Everybody drank as if it was a birthday party.

"Heeeeyyyyy John," a voice cooed from beside him. He looked to his right to see Amanda, a friend of one of his brothers, with about three other girls behind her, smiling and looking on with wide eyes. "How are you feeling?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

John didn't know Amanda well enough to have a solid opinion of her, but he was always a little off-put by her presence. He didn't quite know why. Perhaps it had something to do with how much his brothers talked about her antics – he'd heard a number of stories throughout the years – or perhaps it was because he just didn't know her all that well. "I'm okay," he said plainly. "Surgery went well. Can't complain."

"How long are you out for?" she asked.

"Six months."

Her face scrunched up at the revelation. "That sucks," she offered her opinion, to which John obviously already knew. "Are you gonna be here the whole time?" she asked again.

John shrugged his shoulders. "Probably," he said, not really knowing the answer himself. "Boston's got some decent doctors," he said sarcastically. He had a good idea what she was going to say next – it was what all the girls were saying to him.

"Well, if you ever need anything, John, don't be afraid to call me," she offered with a quick rising of her eyebrows and the biting of her lip.

John didn't quite know how to respond to such an advance. He inverted his lips into a tight line and nodded his head once, acknowledging what he just heard. He didn't need sex. What was it with everything thinking that getting laid would solve all his problems? Before he could think of something to say back to Amanda, in her semi-drunken stupor she noticed a friend walk into the room and decided to yell out her name and run towards her, two of the other girls behind her following suit. Soon he was left alone again...well, almost alone. One girl still lingered, one that had been behind Amanda but hadn't said anything.

"Hi, I'm John," he introduced himself politely, seeing that the girl felt totally out of place and lost, her friends abruptly running away from her.

"I'm Camilla," she said softly, shaking his hand. "I'm really sorry to hear about your arm."

"That's okay," he shrugged his shoulders, a small smile on his face. "It'll heal in time. It's nothing I haven't experienced before."

A silence fell between the two, and John looked out into the party again, seeing everybody so happy and talkative and having a good time. He wondered if he would ever be like this again. He wondered if he could ever forget the past year and what it had done to his psyche and emotions.

"John," he heard Camilla call him softly, getting his attention. He looked at her. "You're not happy."

The fact that she had said it as a statement, not as a question, immediately told him that she could see it. She could see his pain, his agony. She could see what he was going through. He didn't know who she was or where she came from, but she saw it. There was no denying it now.

"How could you tell?" he asked, defeated.

"I can see it in your eyes," she responded timidly. "You're not happy."

John hung his head at the revelation that now hung in the air. Out of everybody in the room, including members of his own family, she was the only one who could really see what was going on.

"Do I do a good job of hiding it?" he asked.

She nodded her head, a concerned but knowing look on her face.

"JOOOOHNNYYYY!" another girl's voice screamed out, and soon he found one of Amanda's half-drunken friends running towards him with her arms spread wide, a wine bottle clutched in her left hand that was still in the bag. What a mess. Being John Cena, he smiled anyway, and extended his one arm out to greet her and talk to her. More girls crowded around him again, asking him questions and touching his arm gently. He tried looking for Camilla in the midst of the commotion, but she was already gone.

As the party came to a stop at about 1:30, John watched as the last of his friends left the condo. Some still lingered – Amanda and her girlfriends in particular – but the one face John was hoping to find again was missing.

"I think we're going to get going soon," Amanda said to no-one in particular, though John thought she probably directed it most towards him. What did she want? Did she want him to invite her to stay the night? No chance.

"Are you guys driving back or something?" he asked, not wanting them to drink and drive by any means.

"Camilla's getting the car," one of Amanda's friends told him, much to Amanda's dismay. She whipped her head towards her friend and gave her a quick glare and rolled her eyes. She wasn't supposed to say that. John was supposed to offer for her to stay because he didn't want her driving at night.

At the mention of Camilla's name, John perked up and was suddenly attentive to whatever these drunken girls had to say. "So you girls know her too? What's she like?"

Amanda looked at John questioningly, as if he was crazy. Did he really just ask about Camilla? Did he even know who she was? She didn't see them talk once throughout the entire night. How did he even know her name? "She's not worth your time," Amanda scoffed. "She's not worth _anybody's_ time, apparently."

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked.

"She's so _quiet_. Like, she _never says a word_...probably because half the time she thinks she's better than everybody else in the room," Amanda said.

"I highly doubt that," John countered. He understood the quiet part – but because she was self-centered? Hardly. She was probably just shy. It didn't help that her friends kept ditching her throughout the night, something John thought was probably a common occurrence.

"It's true. She thinks she's so high and mighty because she works at the Museum of Fine Arts and her dad is some diplomat for the Canadian Embassy," Amanda jeered, her friends nodding their heads like robots to everything she was saying. "I mean, she's a nice girl and all, but she's not holier than any of us. She needs to lose the attitude."

'_Yeah, because what you have going on right now isn't attitude at all,'_ John thought. Before he could say anything, one of the robots looked at her phone and announced to everyone, "She's downstairs waiting," signifying that Camilla was ready with the car.

Amanda sighed dramatically but proceeded to say goodbye to John's brothers, making sure to hug him last, and a little bit longer and tighter than everyone else before finally making her way out the door. With her gone, John looked over at Dan, who was sweeping the floor.

"Can you drive me to the Museum of Fine Arts tomorrow?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own John Cena. The only people I own in this story are Camilla and the original characters I have come up with. As with most stories on this website, this is PURELY a work of FICTION; nothing more, nothing less. **

**If there are aspects of John's life that I get incorrect, please don't hang me for it and send me hate messages. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. FROM MY BRAIN. WHICH MEANS I GET TO MAKE UP WHATEVER I WANT.**

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Remind me again why I'm driving you to the Museum of Fine Arts?" Dan asked John as they sat together in the large SUV, John securely in the passenger's seat while his brother was driving. There was no way he wanted to drive in Boston with only one arm. Though John thought himself a good driver, he didn't want to take that risk.

"We've lived here for our whole lives and I've never been," John said, looking out the window.

"Yeah, because art isn't exactly your thing," Dan challenged his brother, making a sharp right hand turn.

"Maybe I need a new hobby," John shrugged his shoulders.

"That hobby being art?"

"Would you stop? Jesus," John scolded his brother. It was really getting on his nerves. "If you didn't want to take me, you should have just told me. I would have taken the bus," John said.

"Yeah, and get mauled by fans and haters," Dan said, almost under his breath.

"That would be better than this interrogation," John snapped, letting his anger show.

Sooner rather than later the brothers arrived at the Museum of Fine Arts, and Dan made sure to drop John off right at the front door. "What time should I come pick you up?" he asked.

"I'll call you," John said absent-mindedly.

"I don't have the time for you to just 'call me', you ass. You're a lucky son-of-a-bitch that I even took this week off for you," Dan said, frustrated. "Whatever the fuck they put you under with better get out of your system soon. You've been acting like a little bitch lately."

"Fuck off," John muttered as he got out of the car. "I didn't ask you to stay home. I'll take the bus or a God damn taxi if it means I don't have to deal with you today," he said as he slammed the door shut. He heard his brother drive away violently, the tires screeching slightly as he merged again with traffic, and then he was gone. John walked hastily towards the front of the museum and opened its large glass doors, walking in. He saw a giant information booth in the middle of the foyer and approached it.

"How may I help you?" the woman at the front desk asked with a smile.

"I'm looking for a Camilla that works here," John said in a low voice.

The woman immediately picked up the phone and dialled a series of numbers and smiling at John again. "Hi, Camilla? This is Audrey from front desk. There's a man here to see you," she said, pausing to hear what Camilla would say. She put her hand over the phone and asked John, "Your name, sir?"

"John," he answered quickly.

Audrey said his name to Camilla, who paused again. She looked at John. "John, the private art collector?" she asked.

"Precisely," John tried not to laugh out loud. He was so lucky he had such a common name.

Audrey said a couple of more things into the telephone before hanging up and standing from her seat. "Follow me, John," she said as she led him through a series of "Employee Only" hallways, down to what seemed like the offices of the museum. "Camilla will be with you shortly, she's just finishing up some business first," Audrey smiled before walking away. John was left standing alone in a hallway, waiting for Camilla to arrive.

About ten minutes later, a door from the end of the hallway opened and a woman emerged. She was wearing black skinny tuxedo pants, plain black heels, and a teal, short-sleeved dress shirt with ruffles at the front. Her hair was straightened and down, falling past her shoulder blades and down her back. She was carrying a clipboard and was looking down at it. "Sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Callahan," she said, still looking down at her clipboard. It was Camilla.

John smirked and stayed silent, waiting for her to raise her head and see he wasn't whoever she thought he was. When she did, it took a moment for her to register that it was him standing in the hallway, and not Mr. Callahan. "What the..." she whispered.

"Hey," John smiled.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking down the empty hallway to see if anyone else saw him standing there. "How...how do you even know that I work here?"

"Amanda blurted it out," he confessed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked again, as if she didn't even care about his answer.

In that moment, John realized that, for probably the first time in his life, he had absolutely no game plan. Nothing. His mind was blank. "W...Want to go for lunch?" he offered.

"What?"

"Come on, it's almost noon anyway," John tried to persuade her. "Just take an early lunch. It'll be fun."

"I don't know -"

"You were the only one that saw," John said in a serious tone, and immediately Camilla knew what he was talking about. "Just this one lunch. Please."

Camilla looked at him in the eyes and knew he was serious, that he wasn't doing this for tricks or to get on her nerves. The way he looked at her was unlike anything she'd seen before. It was a _wanting_ look; he _wanted_ her to say yes, he _wanted_ her to listen to whatever he was going to say over lunch, he _wanted_ her to do him just this one favour. Nobody had ever asked this much from her.

"Let me get my bag," she said quietly, leaving him in the hallway before going back into her office and grabbing her purse from the back of her door. She emerged seconds later and led John down the hallway through another exit.

To any normal bystander, it was as if the pair didn't know of each other's existence at all. Camilla was always walking two steps ahead of John, breezing through the lunch time crowds, en route to her favourite coffee shop and deli that was around the corner from the museum. John, on the other hand, was trying to catch up to her constantly, but kept whipping his head around at any holler or loud voice he heard, making sure they weren't for him. When they arrived at the deli, Camilla held the door open for John and dragged him through the tables to a booth near the back wall. John sat opposite her in the booth and watched as she adjusted herself, pushing her purse to the side and flipping some hair out of her face.

A waitress immediately approached their table and placed two menus in front of the pair. "Want your usual to drink, Camilla?" the waitress asked. Camilla nodded her head. "One large, no whip, extra hot, almond milk peppermint latte, coming right up. And for you?"

John was still trying to process whatever mumbo-jumbo the waitress just said. "I'll just have water."

The waitress walked away and Camilla noticed John looking at her weird, trying to comprehend what she had just ordered. "I don't _want_ to make people's lives a living hell with my drink orders," she said quietly. "I'm just...picky."

"To each his own," John shrugged it off. "I know a girl who asks for no foam."

Camilla snorted. "I'm not _that_ picky," she said.

The two looked at each other in silence, not saying one word. To any other pair it would have been awkward, but for some reason, unbeknownst to both of them, it was anything but awkward. It was understanding, expecting on one of them to start speaking for the sake of conversation. When the waitress came back, took their order, and left, they just continued to stare at each other.

"I didn't mean to come off forward last night," Camilla said, looking at her drink. "I don't know what was wrong with me."

"You don't have to apologize," John said. Another silent moment. "You were right, though."

"I know I was."

"I've just had a lot going on in my life lately. This surgery wasn't exactly the cherry on top of the sundae," John tried to explain.

"How did you injure your arm, anyway?" she asked.

"My co-worker botched a move and I landed on it. I tore my pectoral muscle and broke my elbow," John said.

"Botched a move?" Camilla asked.

John looked at her strangely before realizing she had absolutely no idea – not even the slightest clue – as to who he was. He smiled, actually happy she didn't know. "So you don't know who I am?" he asked.

Camilla's face scrunched up. "Am I supposed to?"

John laughed. "No, I guess not. I'm a professional wrestler."

"A wrestler?" Camilla asked in a dead-pan voice.

"Don't act all excited," John played with her. "I've been doing it for about ten years now. I'm from here and I always rep my hometown, so I just kind of assumed a lot of people here knew who I was, even if they weren't fans of me or the business," he said.

"I'm sorry, I've never watched wrestling a day in my life," Camilla confessed, taking a sip from her coffee.

"I'm actually relieved to hear that, because then that would mean -"

"Is it your job that's making you unhappy?" she asked suddenly.

"Absolutely not," John shook his head fervently. "That's actually the farthest thing from the truth. I love my job. I could do it until the day I die if I wanted to. I absolutely love it."

Their meals were placed in front of them. John's burger was still steaming from being right off the grill. Camilla had ordered smoked salmon and cream cheese on a poppy seed bagel with a side Greek salad.

"What's making you unhappy, then?" Camilla asked as the waitress walked away.

"Well, this injury, for one," John began.

"No it's not," Camilla shut him down, much to his shock. "I may not know much about wrestling, but I know you guys get injured all the time. That's nothing new. There's something else," she said.

John looked at her, defeated once again. How was she able to do this? How was she able to see right through him? "I just recently got divorced," he admitted.

He saw Camilla's eyes staring at him.

Then it all came out. The feelings of guilt – was it my fault? The feelings of remorse – maybe we could have worked it out. The feelings of anger – she turned into a bitch. The feelings of contempt – I'm a failed man. The feelings of reservation – I don't know what happened to make it get to this point. The feelings of confusion – what am I supposed to do now? The feelings of deflated pride – I'm not sure if I'm going to find someone now, if I should even find someone.

He talked so much he barely ate. Camilla barely spoke a sentence to him, instead listening to everything he was bottling up inside. He talked for almost an hour and a half before there was a prolonged silence.

"It's alright to feel these things," Camilla assured him with her small voice.

John leaned on the table and brought his fist in front of his mouth. He exhaled for a long time and shut his eyes. "I needed to hear that," he mumbled. "I...I haven't told anybody that," he admitted.

Camilla nodded her head. "I figured as much."

Silence.

"John, I'm really sorry, but I've got to get back to work," Camilla said. "Can you take your food to go?" she asked, signalling to the waitress to bring a doggy bag for John's uneaten meal.

John hastily looked around himself, trying to find a clock that had the time. "Of course, of course," he said absent-mindedly. The clock behind the deli counter read 1:30. "Jesus Christ, I held you back for so long. I'm sorry," he apologized.

"You don't need to apologize. You had a lot on your mind," Camilla said before standing up and patting the wrinkles out of her pants. "I'll stick this on my boss' tab and make up some excuse as to why I'm late."

After putting John's lunch into a Styrofoam container, the pair headed back to the Museum of Fine Arts, the streets a little less busy now that it was after lunch. Camilla still walked at a rapid pace, but this time John was able to keep up because there weren't as many people blocking his way.

As they found themselves at the giant glass doors to the front of the museum, Camilla turned to John. She looked at him in the eyes, moving some hair out of her face. "I hope you feel better, John. I really do," she said.

John did not want this opportunity to go to waste. Camilla was not a woman of many words, _at all_. Amanda was right about one thing – she barely spoke. And when she did, her voice was so small and unassuming. Yet, despite this, Camilla didn't need to talk; Camilla was an observer. She was able to see John's unhappiness when she didn't even know his name. She was able to spot that there was something deeper that was making him unhappy.

"Can I give you my number?" John asked.

"What?"

"I'll give you my number, and if you text me and we keep in touch, that's great. If we never speak to each other or see each other ever again, I'll at least know I tried," he said.

She saw something in his eyes that she hadn't seen since she met him last night. Hope. She took out her cell phone and handed it to him. He quickly put in his information and gave it back to her.

"Thank you, Camilla," he said earnestly. She smiled at him before opening the doors and walking in. He watched through the glass as she walked through the lobby, up to the information desk, said a couple of words to Audrey, and walked towards the "Employees Only" doors. Then she was gone.

Xxxxx

John had hailed a cab back to West Newbury after he had watched Camilla go, and was now stuck all alone in his giant house. He had cooked himself a meager dinner of macaroni and cheese before settling in front of the TV to watch whatever was on. As he made himself comfortable in his recliner, the bowl of macaroni and cheese on his lap, his phone buzzed from inside his pocket. He placed the bowl on the table beside him and retrieved his phone, thinking it was one of his brothers, or his parents, checking up on him for the umpteenth time that day.

_16 Phillips Street, Beacon Hill_

John looked at his phone skeptically. It came from an unknown number. He was about to text the number back asking who it was when it finally hit him.

_What's that for?_ He waited for about five minutes before he got another text.

_Just in case you ever need to talk again. I'll be here._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own John Cena. The only people I own in this story are Camilla and the original characters I have come up with. As with most stories on this website, this is PURELY a work of FICTION; nothing more, nothing less. **

**If there are aspects of John's life that I get incorrect, please don't hang me for it and send me hate messages. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. FROM MY BRAIN. WHICH MEANS I GET TO MAKE UP WHATEVER I WANT.**

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John wanted to cancel his endless slew of doctor's appointments. It seemed as if he was going to see every type of specialist in and around the Boston area so they could give him an opinion on the recovery of his arm. One doctor said six months, another said four. One even said eight months, which would really cause Vince McMahon to kill something. Why couldn't he just take whatever time he needed to fully recover? Vince argued that Creative needed ample warning of his return so they could write him into a storyline properly. John knew the excuse was bullshit but he didn't want to call out his boss.

Vince had called the other day to check up on John. They talked for a while on the phone, going over the niceties and obligation conversation before Vince went right into it and asked when he'd be back. John couldn't give him a direct answer. John knew Vince was scared, and it wasn't because John Cena wasn't wrestling for the time being. Vince was still making his money off t-shirts and arm bands and souvenir cups with John's face on them – money wasn't the issue. And God knows the issue wasn't wrestling, because the fans had been vocal for years that John's character was stale and that he needed time off. The problem was charity – the Make-A-Wishes, the Komen for the Cures, the Be A STAR campaigns – John was the face of the company in more ways than one, and this injury was restricting him from doing the charity work Vince relied on him heavily to do. Although CM Punk was a good friend of John's, he could _never_ do the amount of work John did, even if he wanted to – Punk didn't like many people, so having to deal with different people every day was a giant turn off for him. Randy Orton _could_ do it, but he was busy filming a movie. Sheamus was another candidate, and the most likely replacement, but John and the rest of the company and locker room knew that he wasn't as over with fans as Vince wanted him to be. He was great at the charity work and everybody reveled in his Irish accent, but _something_ was missing with him. He still needed to be groomed a bit more.

He had been spending some time with his family, in particular his father, over the course of the week, which meant he couldn't capitalize on Camilla giving him her address. Tonight was different, however. He was already on his way into Boston from West Newbury, en route to Camilla's residence. It was just past 5:30 which meant she'd surely be home from work. There was still so much to talk about with her; plus, he didn't know a lot about her, though she had heard him go on about his slew of divorce and job problems last week over lunch.

As his GPS system navigated him through Boston, he quickly found himself in Beacon Hill, one of the city's most exclusive addresses. He hoped to God she still didn't live with her parents. Hardly any young, single people could afford this area – unless you came from a family of money. He was pleasantly surprised when he pulled up in front of an old, five story brick building – a relic of a bygone Boston. He parked his car on the street and walked up to the front door, sneaking inside the doorway into the lobby as someone was leaving. He checked the calling buttons in the lobby and noticed "C. Bader – apt. 527" and immediately assumed it was her. He made his way up the flights of stairs before finally reaching the top floor and seeing her apartment door at the end of the hallway. He knocked on the door and waited outside patiently.

Not even twenty seconds later the door cracked open, and he could see half of Camilla's face; the other half was still hidden behind the door. When she realized it was him she pulled the door open all the way and looked at him with a surprised expression.

"Hi," John said meekly.

"You remembered," was the first thing she said to him.

"I would have come sooner but I had doctor's appointments all this week," John told her his excuse.

Camilla moved out of the way, motioning for John to come in. "I'm making some dinner. Would you like to join me?" she asked politely. He noticed she was still in her office clothes.

"If you really don't mind," John said, taking off his shoes. "I don't want to be a bother."

"I just want to let you know I'm a pescetarian," Camilla said suddenly. "There won't be any meat. Or dairy, really. Hence the almond milk order."

"That's fine," John said, taking a good look around her apartment. It was small, of course – only a one bedroom – but it was all Camilla needed. Judging by her apartment the whole complex had been redone, but it still had old-world charm. Original hardwood floors, baseboards, crown moulding, and exposed brick were the main highlights. Her kitchen was modern and new, with stainless steel appliances.

Not knowing what to do, John sat at the small, round kitchen table, awkwardly looking back and forth between the rooms in the apartment and Camilla making some pasta.

"Is everything ok?" Camilla asked.

That question was Camilla's cue to John to start spilling everything that was bothering him at the moment. As she continued to make dinner she listened to him rant on and on about his boss and how demanding he could be at times. He ranted about the responsibility his boss kept looming over his head whenever he talked about recovery. John didn't want to worry about all that yet.

"It's like...I know I need to come back, and I know I need to go right back into the swing of things, but it's only been a week and a half since my surgery," John said.

"Your boss has very high expectations," Camilla said plainly.

John had to agree. "He does, and a good majority of his high expectations are placed on me."

Camilla turned off the stove and brought some vegetable and tofu stir-fry in a pan to the table. She lay a dishcloth down on the table to protect it and placed the steaming hot pan on top, right in front of John. She grabbed the plate that was originally going to be hers and scooped some of the stir-fry into it, placing it in front of John. She hurried back into the kitchen and grabbed another plate, fork and cup for herself, scooping out more food. Once everything was done she sat down in her seat across from John. "That means he trusts you."

John wished it was that easy. He liked that Camilla knew virtually nothing about him, wrestling, or the lifestyle he had to lead because of his job, but he wished, just for a moment, that she understood where he was coming from. "He _relies_ on me," John said. "If he trusted me, why doesn't he trust me with my own recovery?"

"He's got a business to sell."

They looked at each other for what seemed like hours. John didn't want to admit she was right.

"I just feel..." John began, trying to come up with the right words to express what he was feeling. "I just feel like he's buying into what people are saying. That I'll be back before they know it. That I'll only take half the time. I'm not twenty-five anymore. I can't do it."

"Is that what's really bothering you?" Camilla asked innocently. "That you can't do it anymore?"

John looked into her eyes and didn't know what hit him. The second he realized that she was right, that, deep down, it _was_ really bothering him, he let out an uncontrollable sob. He buried his head in his right hand and tried to wipe the tears away.

"Oh my God, John..." Camilla said worriedly. She hit a nerve. Fuck. Judging by his reaction, a huge one. "I'm sor -"

"No, no...you're right," John said through tears he was embarrassed to be shedding – in front of a girl he'd known barely two weeks, nonetheless. "I can't do it anymore."

"Well, I'm sure you _want_ to," she tried to encourage him, not knowing what to say. She never exactly experienced a crying man in her kitchen before.

"I _can't_," John persisted, finally being able to control his emotions. He looked at her and she had the look of utmost worry on her face. He felt bad for breaking down in front of her. "I guess I just need to come to terms with the fact that I can't anymore."

"Well, if it's any consolation, your boss should too," Camilla offered, again trying to make him feel better. "Never give up, John."

He smiled at her as she unknowingly used one of his many slogans that were plastered all over t-shirts that made millions. "I won't, but only because you told me not to."

Camilla blushed as she finally picked up some food in her fork and stuffed it in her mouth. Surely that would prevent her from saying anything else that would make John cry. He followed suit.

Silence.

"I feel like we're always talking about me," John said when they were halfway done their dinner. "What's your life story? Did you grow up in Boston?" he asked.

Camilla knew this was coming eventually. She knew the questions would come. She didn't like opening up to people because her life was unlike anything they've ever heard. She assumed people would always make comments. That people would never believe her. "Uh...not exactly," she said shyly, looking away. "I've only been here since I was eighteen."

John nodded his head. "So you moved here for school I'm guessing," he said, to which Camilla nodded her head. "Where did you live before that?"

For some reason Camilla felt like she could talk about it with John. He lived an unconventional lifestyle now, so in a way, she felt like he could relate. "All over the place, really," she began. "My dad...my dad works for the Canadian government. He's a consul, so for a lot of his life – and mine – we've moved to different countries for his job."

John seemed genuinely interested in what Camilla was saying. "So where have you lived, then?" he asked.

Camilla chuckled to herself. "Ready?" she asked as a precursor. "From 1 to 3 I lived in Toronto. From 3 to 5 I lived in Chicago. Then I lived in Berlin until I was 10. From 10 to 11 I lived in London. From 11 to 12 I lived in Copenhagen. When I was 12 we moved to Stockholm but didn't stay that long. We moved back to Berlin when I was 13 and stayed until I was 16. We went back to Toronto for a year when I was 16. Then we moved to Washington DC for only six months when I was 17, back to Toronto until I turned 18, and then my dad chose to end his career in Boston, so I chose to apply to university here while he worked his last few years, and I've been here ever since."

"Wow. That's almost as complicated as your drink order," John joked, earning a playful glare from Camilla. "I'm guessing you weren't born in Toronto," he said innocently.

Camilla looked at him with a serious face. "How did you know?" she asked in a deadpan voice.

"Well you began when you were one year old, so I just kind of assumed you weren't born there," he said, completely oblivious to where his questions would lead. "Where were you born?"

Camilla sighed, knowing she had to reveal the information now. She had made John cry – the least she could do was be honest. "I was born in Croatia. My dad...he adopted me," Camilla said quietly.

John leaned back on his seat. "Oh..."

"I don't know if what he did is really considered adoption though," she said, getting John's attention again. She looked at him before she was going to pour everything onto him. The genuine interest in his eyes could not be denied. "My dad was in Croatia – at the time, it was Yugoslavia – and civil conflict was already going on at the time even though the full-out war in the nineties wasn't happening yet," Camilla began. "He was in the countryside for a while, in some small town, and everybody was told to evacuate because the 'rebel army' was on their way and was basically going to pillage this town. My dad tried calling the Canadian Embassy to come get him but there wasn't enough time, so my dad had to get out like everyone else was, with buses."

Camilla looked at John. The fact that he hadn't made any comments yet also put her at ease. It meant he was listening. "Anyways, my dad got on the last bus, but there were still so, _so_ many people that were going to be left in this town, and he was begging the bus driver to come back one more time but the bus driver wasn't hearing it. So my dad was forced through the bus, and ended up in a window seat squished in with like three other men, and he rolled down the window to tell people to walk by foot to the nearest town to be safe. As the bus driver started the bus, everybody crowded around it to try and stop it from moving, and that's when my dad saw a woman in the crowd coming closer to the bus. She was _very_ poor, and she was crying, and because my dad's window was the only window open she started screaming at him, 'Take her! Take my baby! Save her!'. All of the sudden this woman thrust this baby over her head and just kept yelling at my dad, 'Save her, please! She can't die here! Save my baby!'...so he did. He grabbed hold of this baby and brought it into the bus with him. He saw the woman collapse from her crying so much, and then the bus took off," Camilla said, noticing the look of absolute shock on John's face. "And...that baby was me."

John's mouth was gaping open. At first, he didn't want to believe it. He thought Camilla was just pulling his leg, trying to get a rise out of him. But when he noticed how serious she was, and how she was waiting for his reaction, he knew she was telling the truth. "Wow," he whispered in total shock. "That's quite the story."

Camilla nodded her head but didn't say much else. She didn't want John asking any questions. She didn't want him overreacting or saying something stupid, although deep down inside her, she knew he wouldn't. She just nodded her head lightly and continued to work on finishing her meal. John, sensing that s he didn't want to talk about it anymore, chose to finish the stir-fry on his plate too.

When dinner was done John helped Camilla clean up. He wanted to stay longer but he knew Camilla wouldn't offer. It was already enough that he'd had dinner at her condo, unannounced. He also figured she was probably tired from a full day of work.

"I think I'm gonna start heading back home," John said as Camilla finished loading up her dishwasher. "I feel bad that I kind of came here unannounced anyway."

"You didn't though. I told you that you could come by any time and you listened to me," she said, a small smile on her face. "But I understand you have to get back to West Newbury."

She walked him the little distance to the door and watched him as he slid on his flip-flops. A wise choice, seeing as with his left arm out he wasn't able to tie laces. He looked at her before opening the door. "Thank you again for hearing me out," he said, smiling at her. "We'll...we'll talk soon, I guess."

Camilla nodded her head. "Whenever you need to," she said as he opened the door and stepped out.

Camilla watched as he walked down the hallway. "John," she called out before she could realize what she was doing. He spun around, waiting for her to speak. She looked down at her shoes, then back at him, knowing she couldn't just say something stupid at a time like this. "You're the first person I've ever told," she admitted the truth. She had never told anyone her story. She just went along with what people assumed: that her dad was her birth-dad, that her mom had probably died young, that her dad was a diplomat. John was the first person who knew her true story. She was proud of herself for finally telling someone, but she was also unsure, now, of what this would mean in the future. Would John use it against her? Would he hold it over her head all the time? Worse yet, would he tell everyone?

He smiled softly at her admission and found it incredibly flattering that she would open up to him like she did. "Thank you for trusting me with that," he said. "That means a lot."

Blushing now, Camilla smiled quickly before retreating back into her condo and closing the door. John continued down the stairs, out of the condo, and back to his car, en route to West Newbury, a smile on his face the entire time.

Xxxxx

Thank you so much for your reviews. If you are reading, please comment and tell me if you like it, and any suggestions you may have! I know this is a more serious story than my CM Punk story, but I thought I'd give it a shot. REVIEW!


	4. Chapter 4

Camilla didn't know what was happening to her.

Over the course of the last month or so she had been talking to John almost non-stop. Whether it was texting during the course of the day, phone calls at night, or dinners at her house, she was in almost constant contact with him. She would laugh at his lame jokes and attempts to make her smile and she would continually listen to his complaints; for the first time in a long time, Camilla felt comfortable with someone. There was a new dynamic with John that she hadn't felt with anyone else. A dynamic where she wasn't the overly shy, socially inept Camilla; with John, she wasn't as quiet (though she was still quiet), she wasn't as reserved, and she finally felt like somebody was _listening_ to her instead of brushing her off. She liked to think she was a part of John becoming happy again.

John was naturally curious about her. He was curious how someone so smart and poised had virtually no friends in Boston besides her coworkers; how someone like her, at twenty-seven years old, had a best friend who lived in Berlin, but not one in Boston. He was curious as to why she was always so quiet. During their talks he would learn more and more about her, but none of the information he got helped to decipher any of the questions he was asking.

He now knew she was twenty seven, about eight and a half years younger than he was, and that her dad designated her birthday to be July 17th because that was his dad's birthday. She was named Camilla after her paternal grandmother. Since she moved around so much as a kid her dad enrolled her in the French lyceé system because it was the same curriculum everywhere in the world, and virtually every major city in the world had some sort of lyceé school. She went to Boston University and graduated with an Honours B.A in the History of Fine Art. She hated admitting that she got her job at the museum in part because of her dad. She loved Berlin, Copenhagen, and Chicago the best and hated D.C, for reasons she never said. Her favourite book was Jane Eyre. Her dad told her she was adopted when she was ten years old. She'd never been back to Croatia. Because of her father (not just her passport), she considered herself a Canadian more than any other nationality, despite mostly referring to herself as a "child of the world".

It was odd, but Camilla never felt that she had to be another person in front of John. Around others, especially acquaintances such as Amanda and her friends, Camilla always had to hold back. With John, she didn't need to pretend to be someone she wasn't. When she told him she was fluent in English, French, German and Italian, and could read Danish and Swedish, he was amazed but didn't let the fact dominate conversation – in other words, he didn't ask her to say the same sentence in four different languages like Amanda had asked her to.

When he asked her one night why she didn't like Amanda, and, more broadly, why she didn't have many friends in general, Camilla responded, "I didn't grow up in the same world as those girls, and they can't accept that. They can't grasp that I was at dinners and events with my dad and diplomats and ambassadors during my teenage years instead of making out with boys in cars or getting drunk. They just don't understand." She was right. And when he asked her why she even hung out with them in the first place, she responded, "Sometimes, I'd rather be with them than be alone." From that moment on, John vowed that she would never feel alone again.

Like most days, John had stayed at his house all day, harbouring calls from his parents, brothers, and now even various family members as to how he was feeling and how his arm was doing. He was talking to Camilla over text but knew that she was extra busy this week, as the museum had a big event taking place and she was helping to organize it. He didn't want to bother her during such an important event.

He heard his phone ring from its place on the kitchen counter and got up from his seat to get it. When he noticed the familiar name across the screen, he smiled to himself. He put the phone to his ear. "Hey jackass," he beamed into the phone.

"Jesus Christ, look who still loves me," the undeniable voice of his good friend Phil Brooks, otherwise known as CM Punk, was heard through the other end. "I was hoping the surgery would have made you reconsider calling me names all the time, asswipe," Punk put in his own jab at John.

"Not a chance," John smiled as he walked back to the couch and sat down. "So how've you been, man?" he asked.

"Have you been watching?"

"Every Monday."

"Well then I guess you see they've put me in a storyline with Professor Botch-a-lot," Punk complained, referring to the nickname they gave Ryback in secret. "I don't understand Vince's reasoning sometimes. If he put the biggest star in the business out of commission, what makes him think it's okay to possibly put his second biggest star out of commission too?"

"Just take it for what it is, man. Don't question Vince," John said, shaking his head.

"How's the arm?"

John sighed. "It's healing at a glacial pace. Vince is trying to get me to come back early but I can't do it. All the doctors are more or less in agreement about the six month timeline," John said, looking down at his arm that was still in the hideous blue sling. "It's still in the sling and everything. I fucking hate it."

"It sucks, I know," Punk agreed, fully understanding how John was probably going crazy because he wasn't wrestling. Punk understood his passion for the business. "Take all the time you need, John. Seriously. Don't listen to Vince or anyone else. Fuck 'em. Take a year."

John laughed at Punk's advice. "How is everyone?" John asked, not wanting to talk about his injury anymore. It's all he ever talked about with people, besides Camilla. "I didn't think I'd miss you guys this much."

"Well I'm dandy, just in case you were wondering," Punk answered. "Who else do you want to know about?"

"The regulars."

"Stu's good. Stuck on Smackdown most of the time, but he's making the best out of it," Punk told him, referring to Wade Barrett. "Stephen's good. Lost the belt and wasn't too happy about it but since he's Paul's BFF he'll get it back in no time," he continued, referring to Sheamus. "Bryan's hilarious, as always. Claudio's doing his thing," he listed, referring to Daniel Bryan and Antonio Cesaro. "Nattie's trying to make the best of the shitty situation she's in, as is AJ. And Cody is just being Cody."

John sighed loudly as Punk named all his friends and how they were doing. He had gotten calls from them but John was always with his family when he received them so he could never talk for long. It angered him. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I actually miss traveling with you guys," John admitted.

"I understand. You were a big presence back here. Now apparently I'm the authority in the locker room and it's kind of freaking me out. I can't keep a tight leash on the kids like you could," Punk told him. "They would never do anything when I'm around, but the second I'm gone all hell breaks loose."

"Whip 'em into shape, Punk."

"Oh believe me, I try. It doesn't help that most of them are minions of the douchebag."

There was a brief moment of silence in the conversation between the two men. Both knew what was coming next. "So...how is Randy, anyway?" John asked, almost reluctantly. Lately they had not been on good terms. John was getting sick and tired of his bullshit and threatened to stop taking the fall for him every time Randy fucked up. They hadn't spoken for a while, and Randy didn't call him after the surgery. For all John knew he was probably preoccupied with a girl who wasn't his wife – something John strongly discouraged – but Randy never listened.

"He's still an ass," Punk said in a serious tone. "Still fooling around. Still being a menace to society. Being a spoiled little prick." Punk wasn't fond of Randy – especially lately – but never really was in the first place. You'd think someone with two strikes against him would tone their behaviour down a notch and become more respectful. Not Randy. The only difference between Punk and John was that Punk was forward about his feelings for Randy; he never held back. It was almost teasing, the way he would scold Randy and get him riled up. "Let's not talk about that, it's gonna get me angry," Punk warned. "How's Boston treating you?"

"It's good," John responded. "Just been hanging out at home a lot. Spending time over at my parents' place or Camilla's, but other than that it's good."

"Who's _Camilla_?"

At the realization of what he had just said John brought his hand up for a facepalm. "Just...just an old friend. I've never told you abo -"

"_BUUULLLLLSHIT_," Punk screamed into the phone, almost cackling at the end of it. "Dude, what the hell? Who is she?"

"She's just some girl I met at the party my brothers threw for me for the successful surgery," John explained, not wanting to get into too much detail. "It's not that important."

"Uhhh, _yes_, it _is_ important," Punk said. "You just went through a messy divorce, John. Do you really want to get involved with someone right now?"

"It's not like that with her," John said, trying to convince Punk, but more so himself. He sighed heavily into the phone. This was the reaction he knew would come. "I understand where you're coming from. But she's different. It's...I can't explain it," John said.

"Different, eh? Well I want to see how _different_ she is. We're doing a show in Manchester in a couple of weeks, and I want you to bring her."

"I don't think that's a goo -"

"_Bring her_, John," Punk said sternly. "You know Vince is gonna ask you to be there anyway since it's only in New Hampshire. Bring her with you."

John hesitated. Did he really want to bring Camilla to a show this early? Would she be up for it? She had no clue about anything wrestling related – this could end in disaster. "I'll see if she can get it off work, but I'm not making any guarantees," John said, making sure Punk didn't get his hopes up.

"Excellent," Punk said, pleased with himself. "I shall be going to bed now! Well, at least trying to. Goodbye jackass."

John laughed into the phone. "Goodbye Punk. Always good to hear from you, asshat."

Xxxxxxxxxx

As Camilla sat in her office she tried to concentrate on her work but her mind drifted elsewhere. She tried snapping back to reality multiple times. She had work to finish. That big event was coming up and her bosses and co-workers were depending on her. She needed to get everything done.

She wondered what John was doing right now. She wondered if he was with his family – even though they were still getting on his nerves, as far as she knew – or at his house in West Newbury, alone and watching TV. She wondered if he was thinking of texting her but knew she was bust with this event. She wondered if—

"Camilla!" she suddenly heard a voice yell from her door. She looked up and saw her co-worker, Sarah, standing in the doorway with an amused look on her face. "I've been calling your name for like ten seconds!"

"Sorry," Camilla tried to brush it off. "I was uh...I guess my mind is tired from doing all this work for the event," she tried to make up an excuse.

"Mmhmm, I'm sure," Sarah said, smirking devilishly. Camilla watched as she stepped out of the office, took a quick look to either side of her, and stepped back in the office. Suddenly Sarah shut the door and waltzed over to Camilla's desk. "Who is he?"

Camilla gave her a blank stare. "What?"

"Oh come on! I'm not stupid!" Sarah exclaimed. "Who were you thinking about? What's his name?" Sarah egged on.

Camilla looked at Sarah. Sarah was a good friend, if she could consider her that. They got along very well, and Sarah always invited Camilla out to bars after work or dinners with some of her other friends. Half the time Camilla said no, half the time she went. Camilla liked to think Sarah liked her as a friend too, and didn't just do those things out of sympathy for her because she knew Camilla was quiet, shy and socially awkward, to say the least. It was as if Sarah had taken Camilla under her wing, to show her what twenty-seven year olds in the 'real world' acted like.

Camilla couldn't help but blush. Sarah would have found out eventually. "His name is John," she admitted, to which Sarah squealed. "It's really nothing though," she tried to cal, Sarah down. "I mean, we've only been talking. I haven't even been to his house yet. He's been over for dinner a couple of times but nothing like what you're probably thinking."

Sarah continued to squeal and dance in her seat at the information Camilla was sharing. "I'm so happy for you!" she couldn't help but explain. "How serious is it? How far do you think it will go?"

Camilla shook her head, immediately getting that notion out of her head. "No...no Sarah, it's not like that," Camilla began. "He's going through a really rough time with his job and his family right now and I just think he needs me to let out his frustrations," Camilla explained, convincing herself not to get her hopes up. She and John were friends, sure, but her primary use in the friendship was to listen to him and his problems – nothing more, nothing less. And maybe cook for him. "I don't want to say he's depressed, but he's really unhappy at the moment and I just think he's looking for people who can cheer him up, and for someone to listen to him, because his family and his friends aren't doing that _at all_."

Camilla watched as Sarah's mood darkened. She didn't have a giant smile on her face and she wasn't dancing in her seat anymore. "You have to have confidence in yourself, Camilla!" Sarah scolded her. "If you're day-dreaming about him in the office it means he must be on your mind. So do your best to help him and make him happy, and then go for it! You'll never know if you don't try!"

Camilla looked at Sarah and wanted to believe her; she really did. But at twenty-seven years old, with no previous boyfriend, no current boyfriend, and no boyfriend in the near future, Camilla had given up hope. Sure, she had dreams – of course she wanted to get married and start a family; have two kids and live in Boston or, if she was really lucky, back in Europe somewhere – but a life of no boyfriends, no significant other, and no action with the opposite sex whatsoever made those dreams go down the drain. Camilla had accepted her fate. Maybe she wasn't going to get married and have that family she always wanted. Maybe she would have to adopt or go through one of those new treatments people were always raving about if she really wanted to have a child. Maybe she'd just work her way up the museum ladder and work here for the rest of her life. Camilla had comes to terms with these possibilities. She knew it could happen to her.

"Sarah...men don't look at me like that."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

DO NOT send me hate mail because of what I wrote/will write about Randy. Like it says in the disclaimer, this story comes from my brain, which means I can write whatever I want. If you don't like it, quite frankly, don't read it.

Now that I have that out of the way, I hope you guys liked the chapter! Please comment (the longer the better :P)!


	5. Chapter 5

"So...wait. Let me get this straight," Camilla said in her soft voice. John watched her and could see the gears shifting in her head, trying to understand the concepts he just explained to her. He wanted to laugh but he knew that would just discourage her from trying to understand. "This guy on TV right now...CM Punk...he was your rival for this title. Then this Ryback guy came, and they sort of teamed up against you...but now they're facing each other?" she asked slowly, making sure to get everything right.

John smiled at her. "Precisely."

Though she had gotten everything right, her face was still blank and her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't get it," she said flatly, still not being able to understand. "If they teamed up against you, why are they suddenly enemies?"

John couldn't contain his laughter at this point and chuckled slightly at her question. "Well, once they realized I was injured, Ryback was kind of put in my position to feud with CM Punk."

"Who are _they_?"

"My boss...management...Creative..." John listed off.

"_Who are they?!"_ Camilla asked exasperated.

John wanted to lean across the couch and hug her. She was trying her hardest to grasp her head around what she was watching on TV, but she couldn't, and he could tell it infuriated her. He didn't blame her. Sometimes the business could be infuriating. How Creative came up with how storylines segwayed from one to another he would never know. "It's okay, Camilla," he let her off the hook. "I don't expect you to know everything from just one night of me telling you about it."

She pouted and accepted her defeat. "I don't think I'm ever going to get wrestling," she said in a small voice.

Now he really wanted to lean over and hug her. "Don't worry. Ten years in the business and I still don't get it either sometimes," he smiled at her, putting her at ease. "The boss and Creative make it confusing."

"The boss is Vince," Camilla stated matter-of-factly. John nodded his head. "What's Creative?"

"The people who make the storylines...because everything is thought about beforehand, before they actually get in the ring and wrestle..."

He watched as Camilla's eyes widened comically at this new revelation. He stopped talking and began to laugh as he watched her rise from the couch and grab the chip bowl that was on the coffee table. She had obviously heard enough for tonight – he had been talking for much of the three hours of Raw. "Alright alright, I won't get into that yet," he said as she walked back into his kitchen.

He had invited her over for dinner last night, and to his surprise she had accepted. After trouble finding his house in West Newbury ("You could have told me you lived in the middle of nowhere – there aren't even any streetlights here!" was the first thing she said to him as she walked in the door) and the burning of the original dinner he had planned, they had ordered a pizza. She stayed over long enough to watch Raw, and she listened to how passionate he became while everything was happening on screen.

He watched her walk into the kitchen and suddenly CM Punk's proposal filled his mind. "What if I bring you to a show one day?" he asked, watching for her reaction. "Next Monday night they're going to me in Manchester, New Hampshire, and I'll be going. Why don't you tag along with me?"

Camilla spun around. "You want me to come?" she asked.

"Yeah! It'll be fun," he tried to convince her. "You can experience the show – well, from backstage – and learn some more about wrestling."

He saw her thinking about it. He crossed his fingers and toes. "I guess that could be fun," she finally said.

"Awesome," he smiled. "I let you know the specifics when I find out about them. You're going to have a lot of fun."

She smiled at him quickly before making her way into the kitchen and putting the chip bowl in the sink. "So did you grow up here?" Camilla asked. John heard her turn on the faucet and begin washing the chip bowl – it was a considerate move, seeing as he still only had one functional arm.

"In West Newbury, yes," he answered as he got up from the couch.

"In this house?" she asked again.

"No no no," he shook his head. "My...uh...my ex-wife and I bought the house after we got married."

An awkward silence filled the room as John waited for a response from Camilla. She continued to wash the chip bowl. "Oh," she finally let out. She knew he was behind her but she didn't want to turn around and look at him. That would make things even more awkward than they already were. She tried to think of something to say but was never really good at diffusing awkward situations. Actually, she created them, mostly, and partook in them unwillingly. "Did you realize it was in the middle of nowhere?" she tried to joke with him, referring to the comment she made when she first arrived.

John let out another chuckle. "It's _not_ in the middle of nowhere. It's only like an hour away from Boston at most."

"No streetlights are the international symbol for 'welcome to the middle of nowhere'," she looked back at him, smiling. He was looking at her disapprovingly but with a smirk on his face.

The gears were shifting in John's head as he looked at her washing the bowl. International jetsetter, child of the world, city-slicker Camilla Bader didn't understand why someone would buy a lot in the country and build a house on it. He wanted to show her. "Want to know why I picked this lot?" he asked her.

"Of course," she said, backed still turned to him.

He walked towards her and gently pushed her out of the way with his body and shut off the faucet. He grabbed her arm and began to drag her through the house. "Come on, I want to show you," he said, leading her to the front door. "Put on your shoes," he instructed her.

"Where are we going?" she asked worriedly, though she was complying with his demands. For all she knew he was leading her to her death. And she just put on her shoes.

"I'm not telling you. Let's just go."

As they left the house John led Camilla down his street – the street with no streetlights – into pure darkness. She had her arms crossed over her chest the entire time and was constantly looking around her, making sure nobody was going to pop out of the bushes or no animal would attack them. They walked down the street for about ten minutes before they got to a narrow path with bushes and trees on either side, growing over each other so it looked like the bath led into the complete wilderness.

"John..." Camilla said uneasily in her small voice. He didn't even blink an eye as he began to walk through, but Camilla was obviously hesitant.

"Don't worry," he said in his strong, masculine voice. "Grab on to me, I'll help you through it."

Yet again, she complied with his demands. She latched on to his forearm and they both walked through the narrow path until she could see faint light on the other side.

When they finally emerged, Camilla was pleasantly surprised at what she saw. Small houses of all different shapes and colours lined the large, flowing river she now found herself standing at the foot of. The lights from the houses and their respective docks were mirrored in the waves; they were dancing through the river and were gone before she could even begin to take them all in. A small path was carved at the banks of the river so people could walk – it was as if the people who owned these houses didn't care about people walking on their property. This scene was something for everybody to behold, and Camilla was glad she could behold it.

"Wow," she whispered in shock, never knowing that something like this could be here. She didn't even know a river ran through West Newbury. "This is..." she couldn't find the right words to explain.

"Now you know why," John said, looking at her. She was still admiring the scene before her as she looked at her, taking it all in. The night was so quiet; all you could hear were the waves. It was absolutely beautiful – it was his favourite type of night.

He began to walk along the path and she followed suit. "This is why I wanted that lot, and to build my house there. I grew up here. This is my home," he said as they walked slowly along the path. "I didn't want to let fame get to my head. I always wanted to remember my roots and remember where I came from. I used to come here even when I was a kid. Everybody here is like family – everybody knew me and they still know me, because it's only ever the next generation that moves here." He looked at Camilla and she was staring at him, listening to every word he was saying. He led her up a dock that belonged to one of the houses and they sat at the end of it, their feet dangling above the water. "The funny thing is, most people thought I hated it. They thought that because I went to private school and I moved away after college was because I hated this place, but I didn't. I loved it – I still love it. Hell – half the reason I bought a house here was because I wanted to prove everybody wrong. Even..." he sighed heavily, thinking about whether or not he should say the next bit. He knew he had to. "Even when things started to get bad with the ex-wife, and we started to fight constantly, I would come here and just let everything go. She couldn't have this house, no matter how hard she tried in the settlement. She got a lot – money, cars, some real estate investments we made, the house in Florida that I don't even care about. But she couldn't take _this_ away from me," he moved his head to motion to everything around him.

They sat in silence for a while, Camilla taking in everything that John had said; how he felt about this place, how it was so special to him. He traveled the world constantly, yet it seemed nowhere could be as beautiful as this to him. She then got to thinking about his comment about buying the house to prove people wrong – she didn't know why, but this intrigued her. Maybe it was because she thought John never cared about what people said about him. Maybe it was because he made it seem almost like he did it out of spite. Maybe it was because it was something she needed to learn to do, too.

She looked across the lake and clasped her hands together, thinking about what she was going to say. "That Stone Cold guy you talked about," she began. He looked at her and had the slightest of smiles on his face. "What you were saying about him...it seems like he does everything I'm scared of doing."

The small smile on John's face faded. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Letting people hear my voice," Camilla began. "Let them know what I have to say...letting my opinion be known," she said, looking at him quickly. "You said that you wanted to prove people wrong by buying this house...well, sometimes I want to do that too. People think that because I'm so shy and quiet that there's only one side of me, but that's not the case. Some days..." she smiled to herself. "Some days I just want to come home with a whole sleeve of tattoos, you know? Just because it would be something nobody would expect of me. I think that's the worst: _expectation_," she said, and John completely understood her.

He looked at her, and understanding how much she meant it, almost naturally he grabbed her hand softly and held it in his. "If it's any consolation, I don't expect anything from you," he said quietly.

"I know you don't," Camilla nodded her head slightly. "That's what I like about you."

He noticed that she never jerked her hand away when he grabbed and held on to it. He brought their hands over to his lap and squeezed a bit harder, rubbing his thumb gently along her hand. They sat on the dock and continued to stare out at the scene before them, hands clasped, the light dancing on the water.

Xxxxx

I'm not even gonna lie, I loved writing this chapter. Leave a review!


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